The Keeper
by Amber Blade
Summary: Fourthyear Oliver Wood finally gets a chance to prove himself on the Quidditch pitch...and ends up with the oppurtunity of a lifetime. CharlieOliver slash.


**Disclaimer:** As always, the characters and settings belong to JK Rowling. The story belongs to me. Enjoy!

**The Keeper**

Oliver Wood woke up at six o'clock sharp, as he always did on Quidditch days. Of course, he was only the reserve Keeper, but it was a matter of team spirit to be alert and ready to support one's team. Gryffindor had spent the last month gearing up for the final match of the Quidditch season. They hadn't a shot at the cup; the team's dismally low scores assured that, but playing Slytherin was always a matter of pride.

In addition, this would be the last game for Gryffindor captain and Seeker Charlie Weasley, and for Keeper Anna Jennings. Charlie was the best Seeker Gryffindor had seen in years; Anna was an adequate Keeper, but not enough to make up for the dismal play of Gryffindor's Chasers. Had it been Oliver's team, he would have tried to replace them, but Charlie insisted on giving them a chance to improve.

_And that's why we haven't won the cup since I came to Hogwarts. _He hated criticizing Charlie; he was a great captain and a great friend, but he just didn't have the passion for Quidditch that Oliver did.

Oliver grabbed his broom from under his bed and headed down towards breakfast. He'd barely made it to the portrait hole when Charlie came bursting in. "Oliver," he panted, "good, you're up. You're starting today."

"What? Why? What about Anna?"

Charlie scowled. "Bloody Flint. Thought it'd be good strategy to ambush her on the way to breakfast. Concussion. Not a chance Pomfrey'll let her play. And then bloody Snape. 'We shouldn't have to reschedule because of a Gryffindor's clumsiness.' As if he _believes_..."

Oliver put a hand on Charlie's shoulder, pulling him out of his rant. "Charlie, relax. I won't let you down mate."

"Right," Charlie nodded. "See you in the locker rooms then."

"Now listen team. Slytherin thinks they can knock out our heart by knocking out our Keeper. But they don't know this team like I do. No one's ever found cause to criticize our spirit. I know you're all going to go out there and show those Slytherin bastards what we lions are made of. And I know Oliver here is going to show them that we've got more than one star Keeper on this team. Now come on. Let's get a cheer here."

Everyone piled hands into the middle of the circle. Oliver noticed that Charlie's hand rested just on top of his own. "How about 'Lions make better lovers,'" Fred Weasley yelled. A few people giggled, but Oliver and Charlie were deadly serious. Oliver looked Charlie in the eye.

"How about 'Slytherin will pay.'" Charlie nodded in agreement.

"One, two, three, SLYTHERIN WILL PAY!"

Oliver circled the goalposts on his Cleansweep Nine, watching the Gryffindor chasers make another futile attempt at the Slytherin goal. Oliver had seen a lot of Quidditch, at all levels, but he'd never seen a team score only three times in an hour. And one of those was a penalty shot. Of course the Slytherins weren't doing any better. They'd scored only three goals as well.

Flint intercepted a sloppy pass from Andy MacNeese. Oliver groaned. _Here we go again. _Flint streaked toward him, weaving back and forth as he approached the Gryffindor goal. He feinted to Oliver's left. _Could he be any more obvious?_ Oliver swung toward the right hoop as the Quaffle flew toward it...

"...AND WEASLEY CATCHES THE SNITCH. GRYFFINDOR WINS BY THE SCORE OF 180 TO 30. THAT'S RIGHT, 30. SLYTHERIN'S SUDDENLY FACING AN UPHILL BATTLE FOR THE CUP..."

Oliver suddenly realized that he'd hardly heard a word of the commentary during the match. He'd only been focused on the Quaffle. He dropped down with the rest of the team, his heartbeat finally slowing as he approached the ground. Until something quickened it again.

Charlie clapped a hand on Oliver's shoulder. "When were you going to tell me that you were bloody brilliant? Nearly shut out Slytherin." He leaned closer. "We may need to work with you a little more closely, but I think I'm going to back you for next year's Captain. I know Andy's been aiming for it, but..." He trailed off, then led Oliver toward the crowd. "Let's hear it for Wood!"

Sunday afternoon found Oliver sitting in the Gryffindor common room, staring at his Transfiguration notes and wishing he were outside on his broom. Maybe that was just what he needed. He couldn't stop thinking about Charlie's hand on his shoulder, leaning in close, and wishing he'd stay there. He groaned.

"Oh, come on. Transfiguration's not that bad." Oliver jumped at Charlie's voice. "Of course, I say that about any class that doesn't involve Snape. That..."

"...ugly, biased, lying git. Right. Got it." Oliver smiled, just to make sure Charlie knew he was being facetious. "What'd you want? Not just to bitch about Snape I suppose."

"I talked to McGonagall. She said she'd consider you for captain, but she wants me to work with you a bit more." He looked down at the book in Oliver's lap. "Can the Transfiguration wait?"

"I wasn't really concentrating anyway."

"Great. Grab your broom. We'll head down to the pitch and have you block a few shots."

They walked down to the pitch in silence, where Oliver waited for Charlie to grab a Quaffle from the equipment shed. "Well, what are you waiting for," the older boy hollered. "Get up there and guard those hoops."

Oliver took his position in front of the hoops as Charlie zoomed toward him. He blocked Charlie's first shot easily. Charlie took the Quaffle back to the center of the pitch and came at him again.

They continued practicing for about 15 minutes. Oliver kept making more difficult saves, but Charlie never managed to score. Finally, he tucked the Quaffle under his arm and glided toward Oliver.

"You really are brilliant. I'm no chaser, but I always manage to get a few past Anna. You're a natural Keeper, Wood. Now while we're out here, let's go over a bit of strategy."

Oliver grinned. "Shouldn't be a problem. I've been studying Quidditch plays since I was ten."

Charlie put a hand on Oliver's leg. "We'll just have to see how much you know then.

The few seconds they hovered there in silence seemed like an eternity to Oliver. He was acutely aware of the sun on the side of his face, the breeze in his hair, the pounding of his heart, and especially Charlie's hand on his thigh. Everything in that moment felt right. So he leaned over to Charlie and kissed him.

_Oh, hell. _Oliver abruptly pulled away and went into a dive. _I can't believe I was such a bloody idiot. _There was only one thing to do now. He'd have to head back to his dorm room and hide out there as much as possible until the end of the year, when he'd never have to see Charlie again. He landed and broke into a run toward the castle, but had barely made it to the stands when he felt the Quaffle hit him in the back. That stopped him long enough for Charlie to catch up to him.

_Damnit! _"Charlie, I'm sorry. I just... I mean... you..."

Charlie shook his head and pulled the younger boy into an embrace. "Shh. Don't be sorry. Not for that. Never for that." He stepped back and then continued. "You're very special, Oliver. I've known that ever since I met you. So don't apologize for something that I wanted as much as you did." He leaned over and kissed Oliver gently.

Oliver pulled away again, reluctantly this time. "But I thought you... and Anna..."

Charlie shrugged. "Friends. That's all. We tried to be more, but I just couldn't do it. And she knew. She probably knows about you, too. She's very perceptive. Besides," he grinned. "haven't you realized that I can't keep my hands off of you?"

They embraced again, kissing tentatively at first, then furiously. Oliver still couldn't believe his luck. All those touches, Charlie's hand on his shoulder, on his knee, had been intentional. Charlie had been trying to get his attention. And now they were snogging on the Quidditch pitch. He laughed.

"What is it?" Charlie asked.

"All this. It's so great." He glanced at the setting sun. "Maybe we should head back though."

"I suppose. Maybe we could come back tomorrow and... discuss strategy."

Oliver smiled. "Right. I think I'd like that."


End file.
